


And We Love You All The Same

by Keeperofate



Category: Yu-Gi-Oh! Duel Monsters (Anime & Manga)
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Conspireshipping, M/M, Multi, eclipseshipping - Freeform, rustshipping, sexy stuff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-24
Updated: 2019-09-24
Packaged: 2020-10-27 09:43:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,853
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20758322
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Keeperofate/pseuds/Keeperofate
Summary: Malik Ishtar's Other Self isn't used to being loved.





	And We Love You All The Same

**Author's Note:**

> Some backstory: Post canon, everyone is in their twenties. Bakura has been returned thru some magic plot device. Ryou, Bakura and Malik are in a poly relationship. 
> 
> This was the first time I ever wrote Yamima, I wanted to get to know his character better, I hope its ok!

The first time was a month after Bakura's return. They woke to a loud _ thump _ from the living room, followed by something breaking. Bakura sat up like a cat, muscles tensed and ready to fight. Ryou caught his shoulder. 

“Don't.” Bakura turned back to look at him, confused, eyebrows furrowing further when he saw the empty bed beside him. 

“Where's Malik?” He asked, sleepy and worried, and Ryou ran a hand down his arm. 

“I'll go.”

Before Bakura could stop him, he'd climbed over his legs and walked to the door, glancing back to see the mix of realisation and worry growing on Bakura's handsome, scarred face. 

Ryou gave him a reassuring smile. 

The living room was dark, the usual light they left on had been torn from the wall socket. One of the couches had been flipped over. Ryou stepped carefully up to the one still upright and sat down beside the figure curled up against the pillows. 

He looked like Malik, and he was, in many ways. But also not. Ryou could feel him watching him in the dark. 

“Are you alright?” He asked, glancing at the turned over couch. His question was met with a snort. 

“Oh, just great.” The sarcasm was so thick that it took on spitefulness. Ryou frowned. 

“What's wrong?” 

“You two.” 

Ryou glanced again at the couch and shut his eyes. It was the three seater they'd bought together. He knew better than to think it was simple jealousy, Malik was too adoring of them both for it to be that. 

He shifted closer to him, not touching him, but enough that he could feel the heat coming off his body. “Tell me. I want to know.”

Malik gave a growl, and Ryou waited as he gripped at the couch beside him, his nails scratching into the fabric, legs shifting uncomfortably, like all the emotion running through him was getting too much to handle anymore. 

“Malik's just the mistake that was lucky enough to get in between you.” It was said through gritted teeth and a pained smirk, one Ryou could picture even in the dark. 

“That's not true.”

“Damn fucking right it's not true.”

Ryou jumped, and the other Malik actually looked up as Bakura stalked out from the hallway and stood in front of them, scarred face illuminated by the light of his phone. 

He stared at them for a moment, his gaze centring on Malik with a stubborn look, the other returning it with an intense stare. Ryou swallowed, worried, as it was Bakura's first time meeting him as he was. As he had been since after battle city. The thief bristled. 

“You say it like a person can't have two fucking soul mates. Who said there's a limit? Not me.” 

Ryou fought a smile at Bakura's display of earnestness, and glanced sideways at the other Malik, who was staring up at Bakura with a sneer. “Hello, thief.” 

A pause. “Hello, Malik.” Bakura crossed his arms, looking at Ryou for a moment. “You're not gonna kill me if I sit down, are you?”

“Find out.”

Ryou shook his head. Malik gave a low laugh, and buried his head back into his knees. Ryou reached up and ran a hand gently through his hair, feeling him shiver. “He's fine.”

Bakura sat to his other side, keeping more of a distance but still close enough to touch. 

Ryou could remember the first time this Malik had appeared for him. They'd been dating a few weeks, sleeping together more often. Ryou had woken to him laying beside him, running a finger over the scar on his arm so roughly that it tugged at skin. 

“You know we both love you,” Ryou said, voice soft. 

“Is that right?”

Bakura made a noise of disbelief beside him. “Of course we love you, idiot,” his voice lowered, “I know. I don't always say it, but I do.”

Malik laughed again, harsh and sardonic. Ryou lifted his hand as he sat up, head back against the couch. “You could say it a hundred times and he wouldn't really believe you. Because Mr Original is insecure and broken and unable to see past his doubts.”

“Bullshit.” Bakura growled beside them, his phone lighting up as he poked at the screen. “Fuck it, I'm turning the light on.” He stood, moving through the dark like a cat, until the flick of the switch illuminated the room. 

Bakura turned back to them and swore. “God, you weird me out.” He said flippantly, eyeing Malik. The young Egyptian was staring back at him, eyes dark and head tilted at an angle.

“What's bullshit?”

“You are. Last time we met you were pretty fucking set on erasing Malik from existence.”

“Bakura-”

He was interrupted with a chuckle from Malik. “Believe what you want babe. I'm here because right now he doesn't want to be.” 

Despite the bravado, Ryou could feel muscle tense under his hand, Malik's heartbeat thumping faster. He caught Bakura glancing at him, his gaze reflecting weariness as he eyed the way he held the other. Ryou sighed. 

“Look. Malik is - Malik is Malik.” He murmured, and turned back to find the Egyptian in question avoiding his gaze. “Would you like me bringing up the things you did while under the influence of the items?”

Several emotions crossed Bakura's face at that, settling on a defeated pout that he hid with a toss of his head. “Fine.” A sigh. “Fuck.” Bakura returned to the couch, arms crossed. 

For a while there was silence, in which Bakura rearranged himself three times, going from balled up in the corner of the two-seater to sitting cross-legged, arms folded tightly. They could hear as he ground his teeth in an obvious attempt to bite his tongue, until - 

“Why'd you flip the couch?”

Other Malik burst out laughing, a dark sound compared to Malik's, and twisted himself to turn to Bakura, draping an arm along the back of the couch. “He doesn't like losing control. So whenever he feels anything that's too much, he bottles it up and pushes it down. To me.” 

Bakura stared at him, eyeing the way he sat, stretched out and erotic, lazy and animal-like. The Malik he knew was similar but more reserved. He swallowed. “So?”

“So I wake up and get hit with several months worth of frustration.” 

“So you flip the couch.”

“The couch he bought to share, only how often has he come home to find you two curled up on it together with no room for him?”

An involuntary noise escaped Bakura, pained. He stared at Malik, who simply blinked back at him, betraying no emotion but boredom and amusement.

Behind him, Ryou sat up, sighing and rubbing his eyes. “We'll have to work on our communication.”

“Oh, we do, do we?” Bakura muttered, staring at Malik still. “What are we meant to do when he won't tell us this shit?”

“Wait for me to show up,” Malik replied with a grin, reaching out to run a hand up Bakura's chest and chuckling when the thief jerked back. “Scared?”

Bakura just grumbled, his frown turning into a pout when Ryou ran his arms around Malik's shoulders and pulled him in for a hug, smiling, “I'm not.”

“I know your not,” Malik purred, his smug expression melting into a pleased look as he pulled Ryou onto his lap and nuzzled his face into his neck. 

Bakura watched this with a mixture of confusion and curiosity. “Never thought I'd see the day…”

“He likes being held. Both of them, I mean.” Ryou explained, petting Malik's hair. “Maybe he's upset because you're always cuddling me?”

“I just… Never thought he was into that.” Bakura admitted quietly. He felt stupid. Ryou laughed. 

“Let's try it when he's back.”

“Yea.”

* * *

The next time Malik switched, Bakura was the one that found him. 

It was easy to tell them apart, because Other Malik would let his hair stay frizzled and tangled from sleep, and tie it into a ponytail that sat high on the back of his head, sticking out like a fluffed cats tail. 

Bakura found him like that, sitting topless on the living room floor eating noisily out of a takeaway bag. 

He stared at the sight, still half asleep, and questioning if it was a dream as he walked up and sat down beside him. 

The food smelt greasy and of spice, and Bakura made a silent, questioning gesture to the bag. Malik, mouth full of food, gave a noncommittal shrug. 

It was chicken, fried and covered in batter, with what looked like enough to feed a family. Bakura ate a whole wing before realising just why that was so strange.

“You're eating meat.”

“You're very observant.”

Bakura didn't reply, instead throwing the clean bone back into the bag and taking out two more pieces. Malik chuckled happily and did the same. 

They both tore into the chicken, Bakura still the faster eater despite Malik's gusto. He belched as he finished. “Does this mean Malik secretly craves meat?”

Malik replied with a full mouth. “Does that surprise you?”

Bakura reached for another. “Not really. It's kinda validating.”

“He tried it once when he was drunk and liked it. But the rules of the clan are so ingrained that he can't admit it to himself.”

“That's stupid,” Bakura said, inspecting the drumstick, wondering how they made it taste so good. “I wonder if Ryou would want any -”

“Not unless you want to see our cute Ryou angry,” Malik interjected, sneering as he threw bones back into the bag. 

“...why would he be angry?” Bakura asked, not ready to believe Ryou would try and enforce Malik's vegetarianism. 

Malik chuckled. “We're not used to eating meat. Makes Malik sick to the stomach.” 

Bakura watched as he took another chicken wing from the bag, all at once recalling what Malik had told him of the time he fell so ill to the stomach that he lost several pounds and was bedridden for a week. 

He stood up, already preparing for Ryou's wrath. 

“Is it worth it?”

Looking up at him, gaze wicked, Malik tore another chunk of battered meat off the bone. 

* * *

  


Bakura woke up confused and very cold. He lay there for a moment, curling in on himself and pouting when he couldn’t find a blanket within arms reach, which made no sense. They had two duvets on the bed specifically so Ryou could hog one to himself - and Ryou wasn’t even home. 

He forced himself upright and looked around, eyes falling on the conspicuous lump on the far side of the mattress, his brain doing cartwheels as he tried to figure out how and why that was. 

Coming to a conclusion, he reached out, poking it with his foot and receiving a grunt much as one would after poking a sleeping cat. Or, in this case, a lion. Bakura sighed. 

“Yer hogging the blankets.” 

“Get your own.” 

Very helpful. He crawled over and attempted to tug some away, a low grumble emitting from the cocoon. 

“Why’re you hiding anyway?” Bakura asked, sitting back and wrapping his arms around himself, shivering. “Wanna turn into a butterfly?” There was a long pause. 

“...Sad.” The cocoon replied, shifting a bit as the one inside pulled tighter at their fabric walls. 

“I miss him too,” Bakura replied, frowning and trying to ignore the ache in his chest. “It’s only a few more days.” 

There was no reply, and he sat in silence for a while, wondering what Ryou would do. He’d probably be able to coax him out with a few gentle words and a soft touch. Not that it mattered. 

He wasn’t Ryou. 

He shifted closer to the cocoon, placing a hand on what he figured was a shoulder and wondering how things could have escalated so quickly in a few days. He frowned as he reflected on it, tension building in his chest, until he let out a laugh. “Ah... it’s my fault.” 

The cocoon grunted. 

He hadn’t been paying attention. He’d been sad and focused on what was missing rather than what was right there with him. “Let me cuddle you, idiot.” 

“No. Freeze.” 

“You -” 

“Hehehe.” 

Bakura pouted, and tugged at the blankets, this time with the intent to unravel them. The cocoon resisted, so he climbed over and rolled him into the bed, the giggling replaced with swearing as Bakura triumphantly held up (one) of the duvets. The other Malik pouted up at him from within his remaining blanket. 

“Give it back.” 

“Only if I can join you,” Bakura replied, draping his blanket around himself like a cloak. The dark violet eyes narrowed with contempt. 

“You didn’t care enough to earlier.” 

He’d been expecting that, but it still felt like a punch to his gut. He sighed, sitting back on his heels and wrapping the blanket around him. “I’m an idiot. I was too busy moping about Ryou, when I should have known you would be too.” He lay down opposite the other, two idiots in cocoons. “I’ve never been good with this stuff. I always relied on him for it.”

A pause, and the other considered him, before wriggling closer. “Is that an apology?” 

“Yea. Sorry.” 

“Hmm.” He looked pleased, and stared at him in the way he did, unblinking for a long time. Bakura was getting used to it now. It sort of reminded him of a cat. A cute, Malik shaped cat. “Mr Original could learn to be more needy.” 

Bakura laughed, a hyena like sound, “Fuck, he really could. I wouldn’t mind.” His laughter died down, and he glanced away, going quiet as a question popped into his head. “...Do you think it would work if Ryou weren’t here at all?”

To his surprise, a hand suddenly ran up his chest, and he looked up to find the other had shimmied right up to him, face close to his. “Yes. But I’d miss him.” 

“Yea,” Bakura replied, and suddenly felt his eyes stinging, his throat tight, “I would too,” he choked out, turning his face away. He realised why he’d been avoiding it, body shaking with sobs. Arms wrapped around him, and Bakura tried to return it, finding his way blocked by blankets. “You’re making this bonding moment harder,” he chuckled wetly, receiving a grunt in reply. There was a wetness against his neck as Malik’s other nuzzled close.

He finally slipped his hands past and around his middle, finding Malik’s skin incredibly warm. It was so nice, especially when he was still frosty, and he held him closer, sniffling into those fluffy golden locks.   
  
It really made him feel better, even when the ache in his chest felt like it might consume him.

The other tugged away from him. 

“Hey-” Bakura pouted, only to find his mouth was covered by warm lips, the salty taste of tears mingling in. He grunted, opening his mouth and kissing him back, surprised and wondering if this counted as a first between them. Even if he was part of Malik - he was different, his ka had a different flow, and Bakura felt he deserved that distinction. 

They kissed - made out - until his mouth started to ache, the other at some point rolling on top of him, their cocoons combining into a warm ball. Bakura pulled back, finding he was grinning. 

“We can do more than kiss, you know.” 

“I like kissing,” he responded, voice breathy and eyes glinting dangerously. Bakura raised his eyebrows. 

“But - wouldn’t you like too -”

“Mr Original would know if we did anything else.” He said it a matter-of-factly, and Bakura frowned. 

“But…”

“You don’t need to worry about me, thief.” 

Bakura couldn't help but pout, and wrapped his arms around the other, protective. Possessive. Finding that he didn't like that answer. 

Was it fair? It didn't feel like it was, and Bakura thought of himself as someone with a good sense for the injustices of the world. He had seen many. He thought of what had happened to Malik for this other him to exist, of what it must have done to his soul. That was an injustice. 

He had wondered often, if this Malik was some extension of their Ka. But he didn't know enough of such things to make a proper guess. 

All he knew was this Malik was different, but the same. He seemed to have all of Malik's memories, even of the times he wasn't in control. He seemed like he cared a lot about his dominant self. Even if Malik hated the very thought of his existence. 

And Bakura thought that if he loved Malik, it meant he should love this one the same. 

“I could do something. He wouldn't know,” Bakura murmured, keeping his gaze and massaging lightly at the muscle in his back. His scars. The other let out a huff, his expression growing confused. 

“Only if you want to,” Bakura added, voice soft. The other stared down at him for a long moment, before shutting his eyes with a low chuckle. 

“I thought you'd want to be loyal to him.”

“I am.” Wasn't it obvious. 

Those dark eyes opened again, and Bakura thought he might have gone too far, until lips were suddenly pressed against his own again. “I'm interested. Go on.”

“Can I put you on your back?”

Another pause. “Yes.”

He did, reversing their positions. The blankets caught around them as the shifted. 

The other lay below him, gaze keen and curious. His body, though Malik's, felt different to look at. He held himself in a way that was lazy, less rigid, less in control. Bakura ran a hand down his chest. 

He was used to Malik and how he would tense, keeping his pleasure hidden behind a coy gaze. It wasn't the case here, though, and he watched as the other's eyes fluttered at his groping. He was erotic to look at, and it made Bakura flustered, so he turned his attention to his body instead. 

He let his hands slowly down, until he reached the hem of his pants. He tugged them down, unsurprised by how hard the other was, and looked up again to meet his eye. 

There was impatientence there, coupled by the other shifting his legs so that there was no doubt Bakura was allowed between them. 

“Are you just going to stare?” he grumbled. 

“Maybe,” Bakura grinned, and leaned forward to thumb at one of his dark nipples, the other arching his back at the touch. “Just making sure you still want it.”

“Why would I change my mind?” he groaned, annoyed, “hurry up.”

Bakura laughed, somewhat delighted by that response, and wasted no time in taking Malik's cock in his hand. It was hot and very hard, and the other whined in a pleased way at his touch. 

He stroked him slowly, enjoying how his body quivered, shifting with pleasure. He didn't think he'd ever seen Malik like this, not even with Ryou, who he tended to let go for.

The other was more vocal, groaning happily, almost a purr. He shifted his body like a snake with every stroke, muscle tensing and untensing, chest fluttering with breath. 

Smirking, Bakura lowered himself, eye-level with his cock. He stroked slowly, working him up, and then leaned forward to press his lips against the tip. 

The other swore, loudly, and bucked his hips up, growling when Bakura held him down. He was incredibly needy. Bakura liked it, and decided to _ not _ be an ass, taking him in his mouth and sucking in time with his strokes. 

He wasn't as skilled as Ryou, but it didn't seem to matter, because he was rewarded with a low moan, and then a pair of thighs squeezing needily around his head, legs shifting as he increased pace. 

All at once, the other came with a desirous moan, his hot release coating his tongue. It was like a reward, and he pulled back with a triumphant grin, greeted by the sight of Malik's body weak with pleasure before him. 

“Damn.” Bakura murmured, panting and untangling himself from Malik's legs. He plopped down beside him, pulling the blankets back up around them. 

“Thanks,” the other Malik drawled, grinning widely up at him. 

“Oh, wow, gratitude.” Bakura grinned. 

“I've never felt it first hand.”

Bakura stared, and the other stared back. He said it so simply, like it wasn't a big deal. Bakura ran his arms around him. 

He thought maybe, when Ryou got home, they should talk to Malik. 

“Let's sleep.” He got a nod, and they wrapped around each other, legs and arms and blankets, warm and not alone. Not anymore. 

  


* * *

Malik had crawled into bed. He lay there, head thumping, face buried in the pillow. 

He'd known. He'd known the whole time. He'd known when Isis had told him that he'd just slept all day, when Ryou would ask him how he was feeling in a tone different to usual. He'd known when he'd gotten a stomach ache, recognising the signs of eating meat. He'd known.

He'd known.

He curled in on himself. He didn't blame them for not telling him. He hadn't wanted to be told. Even if he needed to hear it. Even if it was probably healthier for him to acknowledge it. 

He tugged one of the pillows to his chest, curling around it. 

He wondered if _ he'd _ take over and save him from how he was feeling. Sick with guilt and shame and revulsion at himself. Not his other self. Just. Him. Now. His own weakness. He'd always hated it. Maybe that was why the other had hated him, too. 

But apparently he didn't anymore, and it made Malik want to cry, and so he did, choking into the fabric of the blankets and knowing his khol would stain the pillow. 

Gods, he wished he could disappear. 

“Ah, they told you.” 

Malik's eyes shot open. He wasn't on their bed anymore. Instead, in a room, on a new bed that looked like it was fit for a Pharaoh. The bedding below him was layered with silks and feathered pillows, lanterns burning low and casting a bright but shadowed light around him. 

He sat up, trembling as he looked around him. He knew he was in his soul room. He thought, maybe, he'd been there before, when he was young. When they would play together. It had been a long time since he'd thought of that. 

His eyes found him. He was sitting on the other end of the bed, in what looked like a nest made of pillows. His hair was messy, eyes lacking khol, no gold to adorn him. He was wearing the same as him, though with a black tank top to cover his torso. 

“It's you,” he choked out, heart hammering. The other just tilted his head. 

“It's been a long time since you visited.” He replied after a pause. Malik looked away. 

Not since they'd killed their father. Not since everything that had followed. After battle city, he hadn't even thought he was still there. But of course he would be. He was a part of his heart. 

Hot pain shot through his head, and Malik groaned, putting his head in his hands and resisting the urge to scream. He didn't know what to say. There was too much to say, and thinking about it only made it hurt more. 

“I feel what you feel, you know.” He looked up with a start. The mirror of himself looked back, a flicker in his gaze. He seemed sad. Malik felt sad. He studied him for a moment. 

He knew he was looking at himself, but it didn't register. It didn't quite feel like _ him _. “I'm sorry,” he said, chest tight. 

The other blinked slowly, clearly surprised. 

“I mean it,” Malik choked, insistent. He felt like he did when they would switch, only he couldn't switch where they were. The pain in his head and his chest just grew, until he couldn't stop it, until he thought he might burst. He cried out, curling in on himself, shaking. 

“Malik.” He was pulled close, into an embrace, and he sobbed into his shoulder, wailing, unable to stop. 

Whenever it had hurt, he'd pushed it down until it didn't. All the agony and sadness, his self hatred, his anger. It wasn't fair. It hadn't been fair. Even now, now that he was healing and loved and happier than he had ever been before. It wasn't fair. 

He didn't know how long he cried for, but eventually his tears ran out, and he went quiet, chin resting on the others shoulder. He could feel now how tight he held him, arms wrapped about him protectively. 

Slowly, Malik held him back. 

“If you hadn't killed him, he would have killed Rishid. And Isis. And then us.” Malik murmured, head bowed. 

“He was a monster.” The other replied. “He treated our Brother like a servant and Sis like she didn't exist. He hurt you. I enjoyed killing him. I don't regret it.”

Malik let out a shaky breath, and nodded his head, grip tightening. “Yea.” A pause. “I always wondered.” He pulled back, shaky as he came face to face with him, so close. “How much of it was - was us, and how much of it was the rod?”

The other considered him and his words, slowly reaching up, making him flinch as he wiped the tears from his cheeks. “It's hard to say. It's not like we didn't want to do the things we did, but without it, I don't think we would have.”

“Yea,” Malik replied, quiet. 

“I feel different now that it's gone.”

“Me too.”

They stared at each other then. It felt surreal to be speaking, to be face to face. Malik realised there were dried tears in his cheeks, too. 

“I never hated you.” His eyes snapped up to meet the others. He was gazing at him, uncertain. “That tournament. I was just tired. Of you wanting to die. Of your sadness and fear. Of feeling all those things that you did. I thought that, if I was in control, then you wouldn't hurt anymore. I wouldn't hurt anymore. If you didn't have to deal with it.”

Malik didn't know what to say. He opened his mouth, only to close it again, lip trembling. 

“I don't feel like that anymore.” 

“You don't?” Malik echoed. 

He shook his head, the mess of fluffy golden locks bouncing around his face. “They're with you.”

Malik thought he might cry again, but didn't. He reached out, hand finding the front of the other's top, pressing his palm to where his heart was. It was the same as his. 

“So are you.” He smiled wryly, not meeting his eye, gaze on where his hand spread out across the fabric. “I think you've helped them know me better. Better than I do. And it doesn't seem fair that you're stuck here, in my heart.”

To his surprise, the other laughed widely, grinning at him. “You sound like Ryou.”

Malik smiled back, “A high compliment.”

“I like him,” the other continued, sitting back and gazing off in a way that told Malik he was daydreaming. “He braids my hair. And he was never scared of me.”

“Is that so?” Malik asked, a smile tugging at his lips. He moved, sitting down beside him. “What about Bakura?”

To his surprise, the other seemed to snap out of his daydream, and Malik watched as he struggled to answer, lips set in a pout. “He can't take no for an answer.”

Maliks eyebrows raised into his hair, and he laughed. “Yea. He can't.” He turned his eyes to the silken sheets of the bed, running them past his fingers. “I want you to be able to see them more.”

He could feel as he tensed beside him, and Malik deliberately kept his eyes on the bed. “And I wanted you to have a name. Not mine.”

“What?”

“Sis said… That mum almost named me Amir.” He looked up at him then, considering him. “I think it would suit you too.”

“Amir…” He replied, trying it. His lips curved around it with a smile. “I like it.”

Malik smiled back, and held out his hand. “It's nice to meet you Amir.”

“Heh,” Amir grinned broadly, and clasped his hand over his. “You too.” 

“So, do you know how I can switch with you without having a breakdown?” 

“Usually you black out and come here. You're asleep from the stress, so I take over.”

“Oh…” Malik replied, surprised. “So if I come here at will, and sleep, you can take over?”

“In theory.”

“Let's try it.” Malik said, climbing up to the pillows and pulling the blankets around him. Amir watched him with a curious gaze. 

“Can I join you?” He was already tugging at the blankets. 

Malik stared at him. They had told him he was needy. He hadn't really believed it, but it was hard to ignore the keen look on his face. 

“But if you fall asleep too, won't I just end up in control?”

“I don't care.” Amir replied, laying beside him. “I like being able to hold you.”

Malik stared at him some more, wondering if he'd misheard but knowing he hadn't. He considered it a moment, and shut his eyes with a sigh. “Ok.”

He didn't usually even let the others hold him when he sept. But it felt different there in his soul room. It felt nice. He snuggled closer, returning his embrace. 

For the first time in a long time, Malik slept soundly, without nightmares. 

  


* * *

Amir wasn't used to waking up without pain. Whether physical or emotional, he had gotten used to it. And it had been ok, because he was doing it for Malik. 

Now, Malik was doing something for him. 

He woke laying against Bakura's ample chest. He felt warm, safe, content. Ryou was across from him with his face pressed against almond skin. 

He reached out, catching a lock of his soft white hair. The other stirred, smiling, his eyes still closed, and reached up to take his hand in his. Amir stared at it, their interlocking fingers, and did so for a long while. 

He didn't want to sleep, even though he knew now that Malik would let him take over. He liked this too much to let it go without experiencing it for himself. 

Bakura stirred next, letting out a soft noise as he rearranged himself. He didn't have many options, what with the both of them using him as a second bed. Amir sat up so he could move. 

“‘s ok…” Bakura mumbled, tugging him back down. 

He rested his head back against him, Bakura running an arm around his middle. His hand was warm against his side, and it felt good to be touched. Amir returned his embrace with an arm around Bakura's muscular waist. 

He lay there for at least another hour, just enjoying the sound of them both sleeping, the sight of Ryou's face pressed against Bakura's skin, the way the latter's chest would rise and fall. 

It felt good, but confusing. 

He wasn't used to having freedom without the payment of pain. He wasn't used to being allowed to simply... Exist. 

He got up. 

The others stirred a bit, but didn't wake, instead curling closer together. He grinned to himself as he watched them, thinking that maybe they were a bit like he and Malik. He wouldn't tell Malik that. 

He stalked out into the living room, feeling out of place, running his hand over the couch and the table and the chairs. Looking into Ryou's display cases. 

His wandering took him to the kitchen, and he looked through the fridge and cupboards. He didn't really plan on eating anything, he was just curious. 

“Malik?” He looked around just as Ryou trudged into the kitchen, rubbing his eyes with a sleepy look. 

“Surprise.”

“Ah!” Ryou's face lit up with recognition, and he stepped closer, squinting at him with a smile, “Sorry, it's hard to tell from behind.”

“Huh. I thought I had a better arse.” He grinned, and Ryou giggled. 

“You're right, how could I overlook it?”

Amir found he couldn't look away. Ryou's face was bright with his smile, his hair a mess on his head. He reached out, ruffling it more, and earning a squeak. 

“Malik told me you have a name.” Ryou said as he swiped his hand away, stepping close and running his arms over his shoulders. 

“Amir.”

“Oooooo,” Ryou's eyes brightened, going upwards as he thought. “I like it, it suits you.”

“I like it too.”

Ryou's eyes returned to meeting his, and they spent a moment gazing at each other, Ryou playing with the ends of his hair. “Aren't you cold?” he suddenly asked, tickling his bare arms. 

He was a bit. He nodded. 

“Wait here.” He disappeared back to their room, leaving him with a warm feeling in his chest despite the goosebumps on his skin. 

When he returned, he had one of Bakura's oversized hoodies with him. “I thought you might like something more…”

“Roomie” Amir finished, taking it from him and pulling it over his head. It smelt like the thief. Not a bad smell, either. He kept the hood up, liking the feeling of being covered. 

Ryou giggled. “Cute.”

“I'm very dangerous.” He replied, sticking his tongue out. Ryou just laughed more. 

“Are you hungry?” he watched as he opened the fridge. 

“I want bacon.” He said immediately, a little too enthusiastically. Ryou peeked up at him with a reserved look. 

“Ok. Only a little, though.”

He sat on the counter, watching Ryou prepare eggs and bacon on toast. He was making three servings, knowing the smell of meat would lure Bakura out. Amir watched the way his hands moved as he worked, delicate but deliberate. 

“Is that bacon!?” Came a yell from the next room, Ryou shook his head with a laugh. 

“Yeeeees,” he called back. 

It took a few minutes, but soon Bakura's head appeared from the doorway, and then the rest of him. Wearing boxers and a loose t-shirt, he eyed Amir from across the room, approaching Ryou from behind and pinching his sides. 

“Mornin’” 

“Good morning,” Ryou sighed, slapping his hands away. “Go sit with Amir.”

Bakura hummed lowly at that, his pale eyes flicking up to find him. He seemed amused, though that was just Bakura's default expression when he was in a good mood. The thief always had the look of someone that was enjoying life. 

“That's my hoodie.” He said as he jumped up beside him, turning to Amir with a glint in his eye. 

“It is,” he agreed. Bakura was protective of his things. ‘Things’ being an all encompassing word for clothes, food, boyfriends and anything else he had an attachment too. 

The thief snickered, and reached for the hem, tugging on it, “Well, I'm cold too, gimme some of your heat.”

“Fuck off.” Amir was grinning. 

He didn't stop Bakura as he ran his hands under the hoodie and up his sides. The thief tugged him closer, and stuck his face up close to his where he hid under the hood. “Amir suits you,” he murmured, expression annoyingly fond and the words making him annoyingly more self aware than when Ryou had said the same. 

He didn't know how to accept it, so he just kissed him instead, sticking his tongue down his throat so he could stop saying things that made it so hard for him to think. 

Ryou loudly put the plates down on the table. “Breakfast is ready, and believe it or not it's not each other.”

Amir snorted into the kiss, and Bakura pulled away, grinning widely at Ryou as he did. “Who said I can't have both?”

Ryou just shook his head. “I'll be helping myself to your bacon.”

Bakura grinned. “I have some other meat you can help yourself too.” Ryou started piling bacon from Bakura's plate to his own. “Oi!” The thief retracted his hands from his sides, and bounded over to the table. “I was kidding, I was kidding.” 

Ryou giggled, his poker face breaking, “I know.” Amir watched as he held up a forkful of bacon, Bakura biting it off the end. 

Amir wandered over and took his place, picking up a slice of bacon and chewing on it. He watched them bicker in the way that only two people that had shared a body for a decade could - with a sparkle in their eyes when the looked at eachother. 

He supposed they looked at him the same way, but it didn't seem to register as Ryou turned his attention to him. “Is the bacon good?”

It was. He nodded. 

They finished eating, and Amir found himself growing more unsure of what to do. He knew Malik's routine, but he had no interest in putting on makeup or spending an eternity on his hair. 

He didn't know what he wanted. 

Distant, he watched Bakura rinse the dishes as Ryou went to get changed. The latter must have noticed his uncertainty, because when he returned he stepped up to him with a soft smile. 

“Do you want to play games? The new Silent Hill is good.”

Amir was sure he was right, but Malik had never got very invested in games, so neither had he, in a sense. “What is it?”

“It's weird as hell, you'll like it,” Bakura called out from the kitchen. Ryou chuckled lightly. 

“He's scared of it.” 

“-I!” Bakura let a glass down with a clang. “I'm not scared! It's just frustrating and I always get killed! The controls make no sense!”

“I'm in,” Amir grinned wickedly as Ryou smiled fondly back at the thief. “If you're not scared, you won't mind watching, eh?” He added as he stood, catching Bakura's eye. 

A pout. “I'll watch.” 

“Great!” Ryou said, excited, and Amir followed him to the living room, watching with interest as he set up the game and sat beside him on the couch. 

It was weird. And creepy. He liked it immensely, and chuckled in amusement at the surreal monsters and sudden scares. Ryou would jump at them, but laugh afterwards, leaning against his shoulder as he played. Amir could feel his warmth through the fabric of the hoodie. 

It made his heart beat a little faster, and his brain felt a little less scrambled when he was laughing too. 

Eventually, Bakura wandered in and sat on Ryou's other side, arms crossed defiantly. He stayed in his poker face until one scene had him swearing and sliding halfway down the couch. 

Amir couldn't help but laugh, until he felt Ryou's hand on his leg. 

“Shut up,” Bakura groaned, sitting back up and turning away from them with a pout. “It's so _ stupid _, I've lived through scarier shit. I don't know why it gets to me.”

Ryou hummed, glancing up at Amir as he did. “Well. If you were the guy in the game, what would you do?”

“Laugh at it, probably. Look at it.” He said, shrugging. 

“I'd probably be terrified, to be honest.”

“Hmph,” Bakura grumbled. “I'd just summon Diabound.”

“But you can't in the game, can you?” Ryou mused, glancing down at the controller. “That's why games like this are scary. It's not just the monsters, it's being powerless, and being in control of someone else's fate at the same time. You're scared for them.” He paused, letting his words sink in. Amir watched the way Bakura's shoulders slumped, and then how he turned back, grey eyes uncertain. 

Amir considered Ryou’s words as well, thinking about it. Thinking about how he had taken over for Malik when he was in danger, or too helpless or afraid to do anything himself. He thought about the things he'd felt as he watched through his eyes, held back by Rishid. He thought about that, and about Bakura's fear. And he understood. 

“Still doesn't explain why you aren't scared.” Bakura grumbled, gazing at Ryou. 

“Oh, I'm just totally desensitised to video games.”

The thief snorted, and shook his head, turning his attention to Amir, who had been watching quietly. 

“You should play,” he grinned, leaning against Ryou and nicking the controller out of his lap, handing it to him. 

“Hmm…” Amir considered it, glancing at Ryou, who laughed. 

“Go on, I'll show you the controls. We're in the safe part right now.”

So he played, awkward at first as he wrestled with the buttons. He expected the thief to jeer, but instead Bakura chuckled, “I sucked at first too.”

“He really did,” Ryou agreed, giggling when Bakura pinched his sides in retaliation. 

“Tell me more,” Amir said, and listen to Ryou's dramatic retellings of Bakura's failed attempts at gaming - the thief groaning loudly but obviously enjoying himself. 

And then he reached the next level. 

Bakura was yelling for him to run faster, and Ryou was laughing nervously as the monsters got closer. Amir had to admit, he was enjoying himself a bit too much, laughing loudly when he managed to escape to a safe zone. 

“Gods help me,” Bakura swore, jumping up from the couch and looking a little shelled shocked as he retreated. “I'm gonna go play some love live.”

Ryou giggled, shaking his head. “Ok, have fun with your girls.”

“I will!”

Amir watched him go. He didn't really get what Bakura got out of a game where you tapped buttons in time to music. It seemed exceedingly boring. 

He glanced at Ryou, who was pink cheeked from giggling so much, their gazes meeting momentarily. The edges of his eyes crinkled when he smiled, making his bright blue eyes seem brighter. Amir realised he'd never kissed Ryou before. 

“Do you want to play more?” Ryou asked, breaking him out of his reverie. He nodded. 

“I want to watch you.”

“Ok,” Ryou grinned, and took the controller from him, leaning against his chest as he settled back. He'd never been afraid of him, of touching him or having him touch him back. But yet, Amir never acted on anything, because like Malik, he found it hard to separate Ryou from the realities of the past. It was still hard for either of them to feel they were allowed what they had. 

He played lightly with the end of his hair, half watching the game, half watching Ryou as he played it. 

Amir always felt calmer around him, but unsure at the same time. He wondered if it were all the excess guilt Malik carried, or his love for him. Maybe it was both. Maybe being in love was their punishment, to feel so unworthy of someone. To be reminded everyday of how they'd hurt him. They may not have plunged the knife into his arm, but if not for them, that scar wouldn't be there. He wouldn't have suffered a shadow game twice. Amir could still remember watching his body disappear as he laughed. 

Suddenly, Ryou was holding his face in his hands. “Amir?”

He was crying, and it wasn't because of Malik. 

He blinked at him through the blur of tears, choking on any words that might have been there. Words like “Sorry” or “Please forgive me.” Words they had said a thousand times, but still not enough. 

Ryou pulled him into his arms. 

He could feel the warmth of his body against his, his face pushing against his neck. Amir collapsed against him. 

“It's ok,” Ryou murmured, petting his hair. “I'm here.”

He choked again, sobbing and sniffing back the tears - “why-?” He didn't know how else to ask it, and felt as Ryou tensed against him, before suddenly letting out a soft, light laugh. 

“Because I love you.” 

He pulled back, and found Ryou gazing at him in the fondest of ways, his eyes shining in the light. There was no resentment, no hint of a lie, and as he blinked back more tears, Ryou brushed then away with his thumb. 

“Do you believe me?”

He couldn't meet his eye. 

“You deserve to be loved.”

Did he? 

He had done things that others would call evil. He’d hurt people - enjoyed hurting them. Did he - 

“Amir.” He finally looked up, Ryou's voice firm but warm, his eyes the same. “It's ok. I'm not going to leave…” He paused as more tears fell down Amir’s cheeks, and then pulled him into a tight hug, hands moving from his face to his hair. Every touch was so gentle, soothing, warm. 

At some point they lay down against the couch, and he pressed himself tight against Ryou until his heart finally started to calm down, and the pounding of his head lessened. 

“Ryou,” he said his name, finally, voice raspy. “Thank you.”

Ryou nodded, and pulled back, just enough so that they could look at each other, their noses brushing. “You don't have to hold it back, you know?” he smiled. “I say that to Malik. But for you as well.” 

Amir nodded, his head feeling a bit heavy after crying so much, but his chest lighter. 

He'd worried that maybe, maybe it was only because of Malik that Ryou tolerated him, but- “I want to kiss you.” He said, staring at Ryou's face, his angular cheekbones and biracial features. He was beautiful. His lips spread into a grin as he watched. 

“Let's kiss, then.”

They kissed. It was different to kissing Bakura - Bakura was weird. Once you broke down his walls he'd take any attention he could get and would give it equally with added neediness. 

Ryou though… Ryou seemed to savour every touch, like it was his first time. Or like maybe it would be the last. He kissed back slowly, and spread his lips to let his tongue in. It was hot. And slow. And wet. 

Amir let Ryou roll into him, pressing him closer to the couch, their legs tangling. They kissed and kissed until his mouth started to hurt and his arm was going numb from being laid on. 

“Oi,” Bakura's voice broke lazily through their distracted minds, and Ryou sat up to look at him, red faced. 

“Hm?”

Bakura shifted onto one hip, amusement written in the twitch on his lips. “Are you making lunch, or should I order out?” He held up his phone, shaking it for emphasis. 

Ryou glanced down at him, looking for his opinion. Amir considered his options for a moment. 

“I want K-”

“If you get KFC I won't kiss you anymore.” Ryou said firmly. 

Damn. 

“How about pizza?” Bakura asked, snickering a bit at Ryou's reprimanding. 

“Pizza.” Amir repeated, “With bacon.”

“And chicken,” added Bakura. 

Ryou threw his hands in the air. “Alright. Alright. Pizza sounds good.”

“I'll order it,” Bakura grinned broadly, not waiting for any more input as he disappeared back around the corner. 

Amir found himself grinning as Ryou turned his attention back to him. His gaze was coy as he lay back down beside him, hand running up his chest. “Kiss me more?”

He didn't need to be asked twice. 


End file.
